


wreck

by araxi



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Happy Ending?, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Modern AU, Sad, War Vet!AU, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers, War veterans, war vet AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araxi/pseuds/araxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I was nervous,” Bucky tells Steve.<br/>Steve is confused, it’s clear on his face, “I’m not sure what you mean.”<br/>“That night, the second night we talked, you asked my why I wasn’t sure if I was coming back. I was nervous. I’m a wreck. I don’t want to wreck you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	wreck

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could say my essay was finished before this. but it isn't.

Bucky and Steve met about a year after Bucky had come back from Iraq. Steve was a waiter at a 24 hour cafe and Bucky wanted something to eat at two in the morning. The cafe - Bucky can’t remember it’s name, it probably had the same name as a cafe the next block over - was small. The leather on the booths were cracked, and the floor was not as white as it would have been twenty years ago.

Bucky sits at a table towards the left side of the place. It’s covered in a white linen cloth that has a small stain in the right corner.

A bunch of drunk college students sit at a booth on the far side of the restaurant, giggling as they eat their pancakes.

The waiter is a man around Bucky’s age. He’s tall and muscular and he holds himself with the sort of grace that Bucky remembers from the Army. He’s blonde and blue eyed and he’s stunning.

“Hi, my name’s Steve-” he points at his name tag, “- and I’ll be serving you this morning. What can I get for ya’?” The waiter asks, a worn smile on his face that says he’s done this a million times before. He has a subtle brooklyn accent, one that remind Bucky of his childhood. He wonders for a moment if the man is straight, but decides that it’s two o’clock in the morning and flirting with the cute waiter was better than sitting alone.

“A cup of joe, please. Cream and sugar? And, the Silver-Dollar pancakes. Could I get a side of bacon with that? And maybe, a side of you?” Bucky winks, and he can tell he’s surprised the waiter. Bucky can see the waiter’s cheeks turn a couple of shades darker, and he feels a little triumphant.

The waiter clears his throat, “I’ll get that right away for you. If you need anything else, just call for me.” Steve walks towards the drunks on the other side, asking if they needed anything. They just giggle and ask for some more water.

Bucky sits alone. His hands are on the table, in front of him. The paper napkin is on his lap - as it should be - and he’s looking at the old seat across from him. It’s made of metal and pleather, a gross shade between orange and yellow that’s just too bright. It’s dirty and cracked and it looks as uncomfortable as the seat he’s sitting in.

“Your coffee,” Steve says as he pours it into the mug on the table.

Bucky smiles up at him, “You’re very handsome.”

Steve blushes again, “Thanks.” He looks as though he’s about to say something else, but the drunk kids drop something, shattering it. Steve sighs, but puts on a smile as he walks across the cafe, grabbing the cloth napkin out of one of the the pockets on his apron.

Steve cleans the coffee that’s dripping off of the booth, and the kids are still giggling. Steve picks up the chunks of glass that once was a coffee cup. One of the kids apologizes to Steve and Bucky feels a bit of weight lifted off his shoulder.

Bucky’s silver dollar pancakes come out, and Bucky’s prosthetic hand touches Steve’s flesh as he hands Bucky the plate. They both blush.

The kids across the cafe leave, still laughing at something, but considerably more sober than before.

“Ya’ know,” Bucky says to Steve, as Steve cleans the booth the kids were in, “this is how most of those romance films start. Two people, alone in a restaurant at two in the morning.”

Steve laughs, “You should be so lucky!”

“I’m hoping,” Bucky responds, and Steve is blushing once again. He enjoys making the cute guy smile.

When Bucky is done with his food, he leaves a big tip and a small note with his phone number on it. He’s not sure if Steve would call it, but it’s three in the morning so why not?

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky meet again seventeen days later, in the same way. Bucky decides to visit the cafe - again the name escapes him, but he knows where it is and how to get there so it doesn’t really matter. Steve had texted Bucky once and Bucky had it memorized it - _my hours are 12 to 6 if you ever want to visit me_. Bucky didn’t know how to respond, so seventeen days later he musters up the courage to visit Steve again.

It’s one-thirty in the morning, and this time the cafe is empty. Steve is sitting behind the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him.

“It’s been a while,” Steve says, grabbing another mug from under the counter and putting it on top. He grabs the coffee pot from behind it and fills the cup about halfway.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come back,” Bucky tells Steve honestly.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, almost in a challenging way, “Why?”

Bucky sighs, and can’t come up with an answer. He moves forwards, and Bucky sits at the counter and busies himself with fixing the coffee he has in front of him. He was never much of a fan of the drink, always finding it too bitter, so he always loaded it with cream and milk and sugar. He had been told coffee was an acquired taste, Bucky just never acquired it.

“I’ve never actually liked coffee, I’ve always preferred juice or something. But it seems more adult to ask for coffee then to ask for apple juice.” Steve smiles a little, and Bucky continues, “And, on top of that, coffee is just more common. It looks professional to have a Starbucks coffee in your hand than some Mott’s apple juice.”

Steve lets out a breath, a quick one, a way of showing that he’s paying attention to Bucky, and that Steve is enjoying their conversation.

“You never answered me,” Steve says, “but I won’t push.”

Bucky appreciates Steve so much.

So, they sit there, sometimes in silence, and sometimes lapsing into short conversations about inconsequential things. But comfortable the entire time. Bucky learns that Steve grew up only a neighborhood over, and that he loves the colors of the american flag. Bucky learns that Steve grew up skinny, and had a weird growth spurt when he was almost twenty. Bucky learns that Steve used to be lactose intolerant but got over it. Bucky learns that Steve is wonderful and kind hearted and will always stand up for the little guy.

They don’t get to the heavy stuff this time around, they only scratch the surface. But they share their last names - Steve Rogers, Bucky learns - and Steve tells Bucky to text him back this time.

* * *

 

“I’ve made a friend,” Bucky tells his therapist.

She looks happy for him, “I’m so proud of you, James. Will you tell me about them?”

“He’s nice. He’s tall and blonde and he acts as though he’s been in the army. He works at this cafe - I don’t remember it’s name, but the awning is a bright shade of red that doesn’t match the inside at all. The chairs are this bright orange color and they’re old and the leather is cracked-”

“Bucky,” his therapist interrupts, calmly, “what is he like?”

“He treats me like I’m normal. He doesn’t like coffee either. He’s handsome and interesting and he doesn’t mind that I have trouble talking about things.”

The therapist smiles, “And do you enjoy spending time with him?”

Bucky nods, “He makes me feel good about myself.”

She types something into her computer. Bucky can’t tell what, but he hopes it’s good.

“Have you been sleeping better lately?” She asks, and Bucky snorts.

“It’s how I met my friend, ya know? I was having trouble sleeping so I took a walk and there it was, this twenty-four hour cafe and he was working there and - _god_. I’ve never been more grateful for my nightmares.”

She sighs, not angry at Bucky, but more defeated, “So, the medicine isn’t working? Have you slept through any nights lately?”

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m falling asleep fine, but its the waking up in the middle of the night that’s a problem.”

The therapist sends a new prescription to his pharmacy, a dose higher than his current, and tells him to start taking two pills instead of one at night. She asks him about his other medications, and all the other parts of his life like she usually does.

* * *

Bucky starts waking up later. Still earlier than his therapist wants him to, but later than he used to. Four o’clock in the morning, sometimes later depending on when he goes to sleep the night before.

Bucky realizes what this means. He won’t be able to visit Steve anymore, not at the cafe at least.

Bucky is still texting Steve, talking with him about this and that. The weather’s been good lately. Did you see that movie? There’s a sale at Target you should check out. All the superficial stuff that doesn’t really matter but also does.

Steve - after another two weeks or so - asks Bucky if he wants to meet at the Met. Steve loves art, Bucky had learned. It was a passion of his. Bucky admired that, the way Steve talked about art was so passionate, so hopeful.

Bucky knows that he can’t say no. So he accepts the - _date?_ Bucky’s not sure what it is, but he’s happy to see Steve again. No matter what the situation.

Bucky doesn’t really understand the art, but the way Steve describes each painting. One that looks red to Bucky is love and desperation and hope and anger to Steve. A painting of a pond is loneliness, it’s the yearning that the painter feels.

Bucky doesn’t understand how Steve can see these things.

“You know, I was nervous,” Bucky tells Steve after Steve had finished describing another painting to Bucky.

Steve is confused, it’s clear on his face, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“That night, the second night we talked, you asked my why I wasn’t sure if I was coming back. I was nervous. I’m a wreck. I don’t want to wreck you.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand, intertwining their fingers, “I’m not as clean cut as I appear to be.”

They spend the rest of the day with each other, finally speaking about the things that they had been holding in. Bucky tells Steve about the war, about the pain and the suffering. About how sometimes he can’t stop smelling the gunpowder. About how sometimes he takes extra long showers because he’s not sure if he can wash off the blood.

Steve tells Bucky that he has nightmares sometimes - he was in the special forces and he had been through much more than what most people could dream of. Steve tells Bucky of his lost loves, of the days where he wondered if he could continue on. Steve tells Bucky about all that he’s had and lost and all that he’s given up.

They end up at Steve’s apartment, and they fall asleep next to each other. Not naked and sweaty, but in a much more intimate way. Bucky’s head rests on Steve’s chest, and their hands are intertwined. They’re both without shirts but not completely nude. Bucky’s prosthetic arm sits on the bedside table. They fall asleep with their hearts on their chests and their minds at ease.

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night. Steve is still asleep and Bucky intends to keep it that way. Steve doesn’t need to deal with Bucky’s pain.

Bucky stays in Steve’s room, sitting up in the bed, his heart racing. He wants so walk out of the room, he wants to go home and walk out of Steve’s life. But Bucky also wants to be with Steve. He also wants to be around Steve and hold Steve’s hand and Bucky is so, _so_ selfish.

So he stays. For the night. And the night after that. And soon, Bucky keeps some of his meds at Steve’s house. Soon, Bucky has a drawer in Steve’s bureau. It happens slowly, not all at once like Bucky wants, but he’s okay with slow.

As long as they get somewhere. As long as they become something.

Steve is helping Bucky recover.

* * *

 

They get into a fight one night. It’s something small, like a wet towel on the ground or not unloading the dishwasher. But by the end they’re both screaming, and Bucky leaves.

He ends up at a bar a couple blocks down. It’s dirty and smells kind of wrong but they have cheap booze and that’s what Bucky wants. He drinks too many beers, throws back too many shots. He gets drunk and it makes him feel better. Yeah, he’s still sad, but damn him if anything could help with that. He feels lighter and can’t comprehend the world and everything is spinning but at least he can’t remember the pain. Everything is numb and it feels good.

Bucky staggers home - to Steve’s place. He’s absolutely drunk and he isn’t thinking straight and  he wants to get laid.

Steve answers the door and can smell the alcohol on Bucky. He decides to leave the lecture for the morning, and drags a panting Bucky indoors.

Bucky starts kissing Steve’s neck, trying to push Steve against the door.

“What are you - ?” Steve asks, pushing Bucky off.

Bucky sighs, “You don’t love me do you?”

Steve is stunned. It’s two in the morning and Bucky is drunk and Steve brings him to their bed.

“I do love you, Buck,” Steve tells him, his voice soft and sweet.

Bucky laughs, “You never tell me. We’ve been dating for months, Steve. And we haven’t had sex. I know you’re not asexual - you’ve told me you’re bi before so I know you’re not ace - and I don’t see why you won’t do it with me! I love you for christs sake! It’s my arm isn’t it?”

Steve tucks Bucky into bed, “No, Bucky, it’s not your arm.”

“Then way not?” Bucky demands, starting to sit up.

Steve pushes him down, “Go to sleep, Buck. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Steve leaves two advil on the bedside table along with two bottles of water. He sleeps on the couch.

Bucky wakes up, the next morning, with a blazing headache, and a dark shadow in his mind over what the hell happened the last night. Bucky had been clean for so long. He had been sober for six months.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky tells Steve as he walks into the kitchen, already having taken the ibuprofen on the bedside table Steve had put out.

Steve sighs, “What happened last night Buck-”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Bucky knows that this will change how Steve see’s him, god, it will probably make Steve want to break up with him. But Bucky knew he had to be honest.

Steve nods, and Bucky starts from the beginning, “When I first came back, it was rough for me. I had seen people hurt and I saw people die. That’s hard to deal with. So, instead of doing what I probably should ‘of and talked to a therapist or something, I started drinking. I got addicted three months in. It was about six months after I came back that I woke up in a hospital. They said I had alcohol poisoning. Said I was lucky that the girl found me when she did.

“She’s been a sort of friend - not sure if that’s the right word for it but it’s the closest thing I’ve got - ever since. Dropping by, making sure I’m sober. I got myself a therapist, I see her weekly. She really helps me with the PTSD and the sleep problems and I can trust her.

“I’m sorry. I was trying so hard and I failed you Steve. I hurt you.” Bucky starts crying, tears making their way down his dirty face, burning his eyes in the slightest.

Steve looks heartbroken, "It was me."

"What?" Bucky asks.

"I'm the reason you relapsed. Oh god, it's all my fault. I, fuck, I hurt you. _I wrecked you_."

Bucky can feel his heart drop. His insides twist around so quickly it hurts, "What? You think- you think this, me, is all your fault?"

Steve looks down, and mumbles something along the lines of "I know it's my fault."

Bucky laughs, "Steve, god you're an idiot aren't you? Relapses are inevitable, they happen to every addict. I knew one was to come, Steve. I made the decision to drink. Yeah, it wasn't a good one, and yeah, it fucked me up, but I still made the decision. You are not at fault here. I'm a mess, I, god, you're crying. I made you cry, Steve."

"I guess we both wreck each other," Steve kisses Bucky’s forehead, “I love you. Bumps and bruises and breaks and all.”

Bucky starts crying again.

It’s the first time someone has loved him in years.


End file.
